


Reformation

by UrzaHemlock



Category: Daughter of the Lilies (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, My Beta was mad at me over this, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Uncensored cussing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 08:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrzaHemlock/pseuds/UrzaHemlock
Summary: And with his pulse still pounding in his ear, he saw the linen wrapped arms. Saw the grey coat that he looked forward to seeing every day, now pinned by the hood against the wall. He saw a scarred brow arched over blue eyes that he knew. Blue eyes that had been filled with worry for him just earlier that day.Blue eyes that were now filled with fear as they locked on his.(A collection of shorts focused around Thistle and Brent.)





	Reformation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kitty_KatAllie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/gifts).



> My Beta got me hooked on Daughter of the Lilies and I was craving some angst. 
> 
> So this happened.
> 
> Obviously I do not own Daughter of the Lilies and this is just fun speculation of future events.

No.

No. No no no no _not again._

Thistle should have left the moment Lyra started having that argument with one of the locals. Should have slipped away instead of trying to mediate and pull a very drunk Lyra back upstairs to the room. But no, instead of quietly leading her intoxicated coworker away, the local had decided to throw one too many insults. And the moment one of them hit a little too close to home, Lyra had spun around and decked him.

And that had started the bar fight.

Despite trying to duck away from flying fists and make a run for the stairs, one hit to her shoulder had sent her tumbling. The hand that a barmaid had thrown out to try and catch her shoulder had fallen short and wrapped around her hood, yanking the fabric back as she caught herself on her knees, her gloves shredding against shards of broken glass on the floor.

Then the barmaid screamed and everyone else turned.

\-----

Okay, Thistle had been right.

Brent didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t deny it. It had been really rash to run into that roux nest earlier without waiting for backup. He hadn’t expected there to be so many of them, but he still should have waited. Seeing the fury and worry in her eyes when she had scolded him about it had made him feel like shit for scaring her like that.

The whack Orrig had given the back of his head had hurt too.

But mostly he felt bad about the Thistle part.

And yet she had made him sit down and looked over every bite and scratch, checked every injury before healing him so he wouldn’t get an infection. All while she lectured him about sticking to the plan and not taking reckless actions without thinking. By the time she had finished and he promised not to do it again, Lyra was covering her laughter with a fit of coughing and he could have sworn that even Orrig was trying not to smile.

Of course, that might have been because the whole time he kept saying “Yes, Thistle” like a love-sick puppy and turning red every time she so much as brushed her hand over him.

So yeah, Brent had stomped off as soon as they had gotten back to the town to avoid Lyra’s waggling eyebrows and mock puppy eyes. And he might have been trying to think of something to do for Thistle so she would forgive him for worrying her -he really did feel bad about that- and wandering around the edge of the small town he remembered a passing comment she had made about a certain type of mushroom that grew in this area, one that she really liked and hadn’t had in a couple years. He figured he could manage to find some in the woods around the area.

He hadn’t had any luck.

And after bumping around when it had gotten too dark for him to find anything, he’d admitted to himself that he didn’t have a clue what to even look for. Maybe he could offer to go hunting for it with her instead. She would appreciate that. And he could spend some time with her. With a loose idea of how to ask Thistle whether she wanted to go mushroom hunting, Brent trekked back towards the inn only half paying attention to a ruckus in the general direction of the town square until two words caused him to halt.

Cave Elf.

Drawing his sword, Brent changed direction to head towards the town square. The others were no doubt heading there as well. After all, they had experience with cave elves.

He still had the scar to prove it.

He was only two streets away, cutting through a back alley, when a shadow ran around the corner and crashed into him. Claws rasped against his leather jerkin and Brent’s pulse skyrocketed when he glimpsed long batty ears in the limited light. Only one thing he knew had ears and claws like that. Off balance, he shoved the shadow away and thrust his sword arm forward. His aim was off and the figure ducked their head aside just in time, only to jerk backwards as the sword sunk into the wood of the building behind it with a dull thunk.

Then he heard it.

“Brent?”

And with his pulse still pounding in his ear, he saw the linen wrapped arms. Saw the grey coat that he looked forward to seeing every day, now pinned by the hood against the wall. He saw a scarred brow arched over blue eyes that he knew. Blue eyes that had been filled with worry for him just earlier that day.

Blue eyes that were now filled with fear as they locked on his.

She-

What was-

Thistle-

Only seconds ticked by, but he could see the terror rise in her eyes as he just stood there, his hand still grasping the hilt of his sword. The sword whose blade was not two inches from her face.

Fuck.

Brent went to reach out his other hand and the motion triggered her action. She flinched away, raising her hand before he could even take a step towards her. A shove of magic rammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground as he heard the loud rip of fabric. He hadn’t even caught his breath before the sound of running faded away and she disappeared around the bend of the alley.

She had used a knockback spell on him.

Of all the spells she could use, she used one that hadn’t done anything other than wind him.

And suddenly he remembered all those months ago, sitting outside that damned mine while she looked over his injured arm. The arm that she spent days healing. His own voice echoed in his mind as he remembered raging at the dead body Orrig pulled from the cave. Wanting to be the one to cut the head off.

Pus eating mange flies.

They’re just Cave Elves.

_I said I wanted to do it._

Right in front of her. He had said that right in front of her after _she had killed one of her own kind._ To protect _him._ And then he had said all those things in front of her. Now all the little reactions made sense. How she hadn’t been able to watch Orrig decapitate the bodies. Why she had been so upset that the cave elves had been afraid of her.

_They’re just Cave Elves._

All this time, he had been trying to win her trust, trying show her that she didn’t have to hide from him. And after everything he had ever said, he couldn’t blame her for her hesitation.

Brent pushed himself up and stared at the spot Thistle had been just moments before. His sword was still embedded in the wall. Grasping the hilt and pulling it free, the torn hood tumbled to the ground. He bent to pick up the fabric…

…and froze as his finger brushed against a chunk of hair caught in the fold. Hair that must have been caught when he had swung the blade.

Gods, he had done that. He wanted to wretch at the thought of what he had nearly done. If she hadn’t ducked out of the way, if he had taken a second longer to aim…he would have hurt her. He could have _killed her._ A woman who watched his back, who had saved him from drath and monsters and her own kind, a woman who he had come to care about. The woman he had told that he loved her.

_He had almost killed her._

And based on the scars on her neck, he hadn’t been the first to try.

Yet she had still held her spell back. A spell he had seen her use to throw creatures across the room, a spell her knew could break bones and incapacitate. After everything he had said, after seeing him swing a sword at her…

She _held back._

And now she was out there, alone.

Fuck.

Brent was going to fix this. He had to fix this. No matter how stupid his extended family claimed he was, he was a man of his word. He hadn’t lied when he had told Thistle he loved her and he sure as hell hadn’t lied when he told her he’d love her no matter what was under the hood he now shoved into his pocket. He still did. And he would do whatever it took to fix his stupid mistakes, to have the chance to earn her trust. To show her he was wrong.

Grasping the hilt of his sword in a white-knuckled grip, he ran down the alley. An overturned bucket, a footprint in the mud, a faint scratch in the wood; Brent watched for the signs that lead him back towards the outskirts of town and erased them as he went. When the signs disappeared, he trusted his gut, slipping through alleys and backstreets. The closer he got to the southern town gate, the more shouting he heard. The gate loomed ahead of him, a group of men lined up across the opening.

But they were facing out and pricks of torchlight were disappearing into the woods. He reached them, shouldering through the line and ignoring their protests.

Then he heard the scream, a sharp cry of pain that cut off just as quickly as it came, and his heart nearly stopped.

Pushing himself to run faster, Brent barreled through the underbrush towards the sound. He didn’t pause when branches scratched at his face, didn’t waste time cutting down the vegetation in his path. And the closer he came, the clearer the voices became.

“We’ve got it!”

“Pin it down!”

“Someone get me an axe!”

An extra burst of speed threw him onto a path and then there she was, wrists pinned beneath the tines of two pitchforks. Every desperate tug of her wrists made her cry out, every movement of her leg jostled the crossbow bolt embedded in her thigh. Brent barely registered the crowd converging on the path, the victorious shouts as one of the men ran forward. Then the light caught on the axe passed to one of the town hunters next to her, Thistle crying out, begging them to stop.

His heart jolted when saw the glint of the sharpened blade as the man hefted it over his head.

Brent’s vision went red and he charged.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, my Beta was mad about the open ending. This was originally just a one shot with no continuation.
> 
> Chapter titles suggested by best friend:  
> Hide and Seek  
> Mistakes Were Made  
> Keep Em Separated  
> BLT (Brent Loves Thistle)


End file.
